


He won't be loved

by wisia



Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisia/pseuds/wisia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Jason leaves for war, but he cannot leave his king without a sword.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterysomnium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterysomnium/gifts).



> For Wintry.

                Jason was used to making deals. Games and tricks. The disappearing ball of three empty cups. Gambles and lies for his mother’s health and bets for food. Chicken runs and cheats and crossed fingers broke. Sleight of hand and tricked coins and dice roles to survive. All before he drew the hand that was a royal flush. And Jason became a prince of Gotham, riding the winds of his luck. He thought that was the end.

                He was wrong. Because war was coming to Gotham, brought upon, fed upon, spurred upon by the Joker’s madness. War was coming and Jason would fight, would go and Bruce would be a king without his sword. Jason’s sword. When he left for war. That couldn’t be. Shouldn’t be.

                Because Bruce wasn’t a lucky man. And Jason couldn’t leave Bruce alone without him there to protect, to fight, to serve.

                And he went to the Demon for the damnest deal. Sat in the cave, green smoky water all around. Cut his hand and shed his blood. And took the Demon’s most prized possession.

                “He won’t be loved,” the Demon said, touching the boy’s raven locks, stroking and running. “He won’t be loved at all, but he’ll serve you. Will be loyal.”

                “I’ll love him,” Jason replied. “I’ll love him if he’s loyal.”

                And the Demon laughed high and cold. “You won’t. You will hate him.”

                He kissed the boy on the forehead. Kissed him and he was loathed to give to Jason because the boy was his prize, his songbird, but the deal was set and done.

                “His name is Timothy.”

                Jason took the boy home, took him to court. Dressed him well and presented him to his King. To Bruce.

                “He will serve in my stead,” Jason said. “While I’m gone.”

                And Bruce looked on, impassive. “He isn’t you.”

                “No,” Jason said. “But he will serve.”

                And Timothy did. Oh, how beautiful he was. Milky white skin and the bluest eyes. Intelligent and sweet. Soft spoken and quick to learn what Jason taught. Followed Richard and tumbled, eager and able. He was the delight of Gotham in the preparation for war.

                Timothy was so wonderful, so pretty in his manner and words and looks. He was the everything to Jason’s needs. So much so that Jason couldn’t help but love him. Care for him. Even with the Demon’s words ringing in his head. How could he not love him? This boy tender and small?

                And Jason took him to bed. Kissed him. Kissed him dear and long.

                He left for war, assured. Promised that Timothy, oh his Timothy, would be fine. Would serve his king as well as Jason did.

                “I’ll be your replacement,” he said. “I’ll act in your stead.”

                “I know you will,” Jason said.

                And Jason kissed him one last time. He would return. To Gotham, to his king and to Timothy. Because he loved him so much he couldn’t not come back.

                But Jason died. Jason died. Beaten and ravaged and burned two weeks into war. And his luck, his damning luck brought him to life.

                “You live,” the Demon said. And Jason lived. From the waters, green and treacherous. From the hands of the Demon and his daughter to mend and heal.

                And  he only wanted his Timothy. He asked and the Demon laughed, still cold, still high.

                “My pet—your pet is the prince of Gotham now.”

                Then Jason learned. His Timothy, fragile and small, had fulfilled his wish. His command.

                Timothy replaced him.

                He went to Gotham and found himself chased. Scorned. And Jason raged, wailed and cried. His king would not see him. Denounced him. Did not make amends for his death. And Timothy stood by his king’s side, dressed in red, enchanting and still.

                And Jason snuck into the castle, his stolen home and Timothy was waiting. For him.

                “You hate me,” Timothy said as soon as his eyes landed on him. And Jason knew it was true. But he smashed his lips to the boy’s.

                “I do. I do hate you.”

                “I only did what you ask. Always what you ask.”

                And he spread his legs for Jason. Because what he said was true, and Jason coaxed him, asked him. Timothy responded in sighs and moans and trembles.

                “Then don’t,” Jason said. “Don’t do what I ask. Give me back what is mine.”

                Timothy shuddered. He obeyed, loyal to a fault. Kissed Jason and cried. Because he couldn’t do what Jason asked. The last thing he asked.

                He took Jason’s place and kept it. Kept it and suffered and fell sick. He wasn’t what Bruce wanted. Wasn’t what Dick needed. And he wasn’t Jason.

                Jason hated him.

                And the Demon watched. Observed. Because Timothy would not be loved, and the Demon wept as Jason hated and Timothy served.

 


	2. Unmake Me

He was tired. Tim was so very tired. Of the gazes and the looks and the lost prince out of his reach. He was tired of the work for a king who didn’t want him, of standing all day to smile and walk and talk, of pretending to be the lost prince when all he wanted was that lost prince. To have him by his side. To lie in his bed and feel those curls between his fingers when the air was dry and the prince’s hair wasn’t stubborn enough to fight the dryness and the curling.

                And Tim couldn’t do much but obey.

                 _“Then, don’t. Don’t do what I ask. Give me back what is mine.”_

                Obey the command and take Jason’s place because he loved and he’ll obey even if he wasn’t wanted, wasn’t loved by the lost prince. He’ll be the replacement even if he was tired, tired of the gazes and the looks and the work and of wanting the lost prince.

                Then he froze and frosted in the hall.

                “This is my son,” Bruce said, hands on the shoulders of a boy of ten.

               Because the king had a son borne by the Demon’s daughter. Brought the son to Gotham to live and reign, and even the eldest prince danced attendance on the boy. Tim could not deny the beauty, the wonder of the boy. All fierce and harsh and more demon than boy.

               And Tim was failing in his task. That boy was the true lost prince, and Gotham didn’t belong to him. It had never belonged to him.

             “Leave, you are not wanted,” Damian commanded. “I am the true heir to my father’s lands.”

              So, he stole away in the middle of the night. To the cave and green waters and to the demon who made him.

             “You created me,” Tim said. “Unmake me, please!”

              And the Demon held Timothy close to his chest, close enough to stroke the boy’s raven locks and wept. Kissed the forehead and the cheeks wet with tears, felt the skin and the bones and cursed. Because Timothy was his, made by his hands but he won’t be loved. And that was the most damning condition the Demon had ever set, but he didn’t know that the boy would be so beautiful, so precious. His very best handiwork.

             “I cannot unmake you,” the Demon said. Because who could destroy their own work? When it was the best and unique and the only?

             And then the Demon wept some more at the boy’s ashen face, the pain and the strain to fulfill his task but failing.

            “You cannot unmake me?”

            The Demon shook his head and passed his hand over the boy’s eyes. Let the lids close and watched the boy fall into uneasy sleep. Then, he swept the boy up to the pools of green water.

            He could not unmake Timothy, but he could remake him.

             And somewhere Jason smiled. Smiled at the world. Because he was the lost prince of Gotham, living on the streets, and he had the most beautiful pet. A red robin with scarlet feathers and voice so sweet in song. It came to land on him when he was in rain and sweat and blood and tears. And it trilled the gloom away.

            “You are mine,” he said and stroked the feathers that were red and bright. “I will never let you go.”

            Because Jason loved his red robin so.

           And the bird tweeted and fluttered in joy, preening at the words, at the promise.

          He was loved.


End file.
